


Evil in your veins

by ThunderFrost2012



Category: Muse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Politics, Assassins & Hitmen, Consensual Kink, Corruption, Fluff and Smut, Gun Kink, M/M, Mole - Freeform, Not Politically Correct, OOC on purpose, POV Alternating, Police, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderFrost2012/pseuds/ThunderFrost2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very weird story, written with SunAddicted (Fran) .<br/>A corrupted major needs to get rid of a very upright policeman. Who’s going to help him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the wonderful Alex <3 aka_demon72  
> Pairing: Belldom  
> Rating: NC 17  
> Disclaimer: we don’t own any of the characters, only the plot.  
> Feedback: this story proved to be very unlucky on MS.. let's see if here things can be better.. *finger crossing*

_Chris’ Pov_

It is a wonderful and sunny morning, almost hot – an exception in Teignmouth, England – that makes me smile during the length of the walk to the town hall, which usually leaves me quite grumpy; for some unknown reason Kelly, my wife, has decided that walking to my place of work wouldn’t kill me but instead help me to prevent cardiovascular problems and all that stuff regarding my health in the future.

An impressively huge amount of shit in my opinion, but I do what she says and don’t take my Porsche because I love her and I don’t want her to be angry with me: she really can be a pain in the arse when I don’t listen to her advice for my own good.  
“Good morning, Christopher. Here it is your agenda and yes: it is updated, don’t worry.” Mrs. Summer, my secretary, shoots me a bright and polite smile, handing me my first cup of coffee.

As I’m walking into my office while sipping some from my favorite mug – it is white with a rich dark brown sentence which reads “I’m the boss” – I shoot a glance to the newspapers on the shiny and perfectly cleaned surface of my desk; the first one is a local and on the first page there is a picture of me, the mayor of city, and of my beloved and wonderful wife which was taken yesterday during the opening of the new high school – for the joy of the teenagers who surely couldn’t wait to waste their life in its cold and aseptic classrooms. As usual, we look remarkably good: our high life style, granted by dirty but easy money, keeping us merry and young while common people in their early thirties seem to be already old and rotten.

Though I still prefer the photograph in the thin silvery frame that I keep near my laptop; Kelly is much more herself in the sensual and expensive golden dress covered in paillettes and her black stiletto shoes, the smile on her lovely mouth a little bit arrogant and evil, but the one which made me fall for her when I was only at the beginning of my career. And I seem to be much younger, but I suppose this is because it was taken two years ago when I really was younger and partying hard with the woman I loved and a bunch of fools.

I sit down sighing and draining the last sips of that comforting drink, but a full pot of it wouldn’t help me with my daily duties. This morning I have to spend my time hiding the holes that my illicit activities create in the annual accounts of Teignmouth and I have to be very careful: in a spot of a city like this, everyone knows everything and if I don’t pay attention and keep low my profits I may be busted before I have the time to say “Hi” to the policeman – maybe that insolent Nic Cester who can’t help wanting to see me and Kelly and the other of the gag rotting in prison – who would cuff me and bring me to jail.

Instead of immediately picking up the counts’ books, I flick through the pages of my agenda. Mrs. Summer has neat and elegant handwriting, impersonal like typed text. It seems that during the afternoon I have a meeting with a journalist – oh joy!  
A name, written in a different calligraphy and with a pencil instead of the usual fountain pen draws my attention: Morgan wrote it down.

My phone buzzes: I always keep it silenced because I can’t stand any of the psychotic and unnerving ring tones that people love in an almost insane way. It is only nine in the morning and I had just a coffee and people are already beginning to bother me with their problems that I haven’t any desire to solve; I didn’t aim to become the mayor to help the city’s improvement or help the growth of population’s wealth: only mine.

The touch screen shows a well-known name and his number flashing and this drives me mad. “Wolstenholme on the phone.” I answer, bored.

“Boss, we have trouble.” my interlocutor says in a panicked voice. “Really big trouble: like a fucking elephant in a shop of china.” he points out, coughing into the microphone.

“Nice metaphor, but what do you mean?” I start to play nervously with a pen: I don’t like bad news, not at all, and especially not on Monday mornings after I had the most wonderful weekend with my Kelly.

A brief moment of silence is suspended between us.

“Nic Cester.”

Always him, giving me problems with his sense of justice: he is the only policeman who isn’t corrupted. I kind of respect him: he has his ideals and sticks faithfully to them, but he is an annoying and disturbing mosquito.

“I’m going to kill him!” I end the call shouting and tempted to throw the damned thing to the wall. Really, it is the only solution: I can risk no more of mine and Kelly’s peace for Mr. Cester and his fucking ideals of the old times.

In this moment Morgan Nicholls, my mate in business and almost-friend in my normal life, makes his appearance, a frown on his face. “Good morning to you too, Chris. Already planning to kill people at…” He stops emphatically to glance at his golden watch, “…at half past nine?”

“Please, don’t joke: it’s going to be a terrible day.” I sigh and rub my eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asks, sitting on one the comfortable chairs in front of me. “You do offer me a drink, don’t you?” He picks up the phone, without waiting for my answer – which would have been positive anyway – and dials Mrs. Summer office number “Ey, Emily! How are you, little sunray? Me and Chris are in need of a strong drink, would you mind bringing us one?”

“Always charming.” I open the first drawer of my desk and take out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter; if Kelly could see me now she would begin screaming until I beg pardon for being such a shit not caring of its own health – but she can’t and so I light a cigarette and breathe deeply in the first drag of smoke. “Want to help me?”

Morgan smiles. “Am I not here for solving your problems?”

Mrs. Summer comes in with a tray on which there is a bottle of vodka and two thin glasses full of ice. “Here you are. Do you need anything else?” Her eyes are chained on Morgan’s face – maybe he’s too charming.

“No, thank you.” I hastily reply. When the door closes behind her back I take my glass, filled by Morgan, and begin to explain my horrible situation “Nic Cester has to die.”

Relieved, my mate sips his drink “And who’s going to be the killer?”

“Well… me.” I say in the most obvious tone I can produce even if I’m quite anxious at the moment.

“But you can’t get personally involved!” And he has reason to yell, but what can I do? I’ve known Morgan since we went together to the elementary school and I ate his granny’s apple pie when I was invited for lunch and he just couldn’t hurt anyone – even the ones who tried to bully him – so I know for sure that he can’t apply for the job even if he’s the person I trust more after Kelly. I still wonder why he got involved in our business that isn’t really the one for good hearted people like him. “Hire someone.” He suggests, probably sensing that my nerves are tearing themselves apart.

“And may-be-blessed the Lord: who?” Even if I am involved in illegal operations, I don’t really know someone to hire in order to have Cester’s head on a golden tray.

“Maybe I know the right people.” But he seems to know – quite shocking.

“Well: hire one of them. Money is not a problem.” I grin. Kelly can sacrifice the new pair of Louboutins she had been admiring for months. “Do what you want but solve this problem: Nic Cester has to die!” I swallow my drink. Maybe I have been a little too brutal, but what did Machiavelli say? Oh yes: it’s better to be beloved than feared, but if you cannot be beloved then fear will do.

*****

_Matt’s Pov_

The man slowly opens his eyes. I can see him from afar.

He is probably wondering when he closed them and what that pain behind his nape is coming from.

That’s so typical of all our victims.

To be honest, the part that I prefer is when they’re so busy trying to figure out where they are that their mind hasn’t registered yet that they are tied to a chair. And they know that this can’t be good.

So now he’s finally realising that. And he’s studying the place.

Well, is there anything better than an abandoned, gloomy and grim storehouse to keep someone prisoner in?

I know that he can feel the humidity permeate his bones, while he’s busy trying to find a way to escape. Poor, stupid man. There’s no way he can escape.

I glance at my mate and he nods: it’s time to introduce ourselves.

He can hear our footsteps grow closer and closer and when he turns he sees two young men approaching.

Yep, since both Dom and I are around thirty years old, I consider us young men and if anyone dares to contradict me, I swear I’ll kill them. And, trust me, I can easily do that.

“Finally, you’re awake!” I commence, leaning closer to him.

I may show the man a warm smile, but there must be something in my glacial blue eyes that doesn’t calm him down.  
Well, it’s not the first time that has happened.

“Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck am I? What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Matthew, I told you that we should have gagged him!” Dom rolls his eyes, turning to me. “So, didn’t your mom teach you some manners?” he goes on, this time turning to the tied man. “Mind your language!” he summons him.  
My Dommeh has always had a thing for bon ton!

“That’s right, also because it’s not you who can ask questions here.” I add.

“Let me go!” the man yells.

Dominic bursts out laughing and there’s a disquieting light shining in his eyes that are a mixture of green and grey. In a word, they’re amazing.

“So you want to go, don’t you? You know, I want so many things, too: a Lamborghini, two million pounds, an apple-shaped swimming pool, a villa with leopard-printed walls…” he starts to list. “But we just can’t. C’est la vie!” he smirks, shrugging.

Goddamnit, he’s speaking French. He knows the effect it has on me every time he does. I’m wondering why I’m not already slamming my blond angel against the wall. Oh right, we’re fucking working now.

“Actually there’s something we really want to know. Where are the drugs?” I interrogate our unwilling guest.

“W-w-what?” the man jolts, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please, don’t you dare act dumb. You know what he’s talking about. Thirty kilos of scat, forty kilos of snow. Where did Mr. Kane tell you to hide them?” Dominic questions him.

“I don’t know any bloody Mr. Kane; there must be a mistake. Now let--”  
The man can’t end his sentence, not after Dom kicks him viciously in the mouth, making him fall to the floor along with the chair.

“If there’s one thing I really can’t stand, it’s liars!” my beloved hisses.  
My Dommeh has always had a thing for violence, as well.  
It’s something that I love about him so, so much.

“Geez, Dominic, you’re always so damn rude!” I pretend to scold my partner, while I help the man get up, with the chair. “Don’t mind at him, buddy, he’s always in a bad mood!” I turn to the man, wiping the blood from his mouth with a handkerchief, before throwing it on the floor.

“After all we’re only having a civil conversation here. We ask, you answer, it doesn’t seem such a difficult task to me, does it?” I keep talking, with a quiet tone. “However, my friend here is right. You’re lying and we’re going to prove to you how we know.”  
Dom draws a picture from the pocket of his black leather jacket, featuring that man with another man who is not so anonymous.  
“See? It’s you with Mr. Kane, the man who wants to make Mr. Anderson a fool, but he just chose the wrong man to mess with. Now, I’ll ask you again: where are the drugs?” Dom grows impatient.

“I’ve already told you I don’t know anything… Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!” the man screams madly as soon as my mate sinks a knife into his left thigh.

“Naaah, this is not the answer we want to hear!” Dom sneers, retrieving one of his favorite ‘toys’ from the man’s leg.  
The classical music that is filling the room since the man opened his eyes is creating a huge contrast with the tension of this moment.

“Oh, c’mon, I bet you know very well where Anderson’s drugs are. Make a little effort to remember!” I spur our victim, pointing another knife at his throat, while the man is still whimpering because of his wounded leg.

“Well, well, let’s see if I can refresh your memory…” Dominic singsongs, playing with his blood-soaked knife and staring at the man‘s right thigh.

“No!” the man begs for mercy, as he can clearly feel me deepening the pressure, drawing a tiny red line on his skin.  
Have I mentioned that red is my favorite colour?

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk!” the man gives in and both me and Dom part from him. “Mr. Kane told me to bring the drugs to the harbor. It’s on the ship ‘Supremacy’ which will leave tonight.” he confesses.

Dominic and I exchange an understanding look, realising he’s telling the truth.  
“See? It wasn’t that difficult!” I smile at the man, while I untie him.

Very laboriously, the man manages to stand up, holding his wounded leg, while he walks with a limp towards the exit.  
“You got what you wanted. Now leave me alone and never come around again, you fucking psychopaths with your shitty music…”

I shoot at the man, who drops dead to the floor, with a bullet on his forehead.

“You know, I really can’t stand people who can’t appreciate such an amazing artist as Rachmaninov!” I snort, enjoying the awesome music from the brilliant composer, while I caress what is one of my favourite ‘toys’.  
Dom casts me a fake reproaching gaze.

“What? It’s not that he had any chance to leave this building alive anyway!” I shrug, making my mate laugh.

After Dom called Mr. Anderson, giving him all the requested info and declaring that mission is accomplished, he approaches sensually towards me.

“Well, Matteh, I know I can’t have a villa with leopard-printed walls, but, you know, we could at least put some leopard-printed wall paper in our bedroom.” he purrs, skimming my goatee with his cheek.

“You know, baby, we’ve had this discussion a million times!” I try to dissuade him for the umpteenth time, while he caresses my dark brown, messy hair.

“Half leopard-printed, half glittery wall paper, hmm?” he offers me this as s compromise.

I should have known better, my Dom always has an ace in the hole.  
I stare at him smirking, amused.  
“Oh, Dommeh, you bloody tempter!” I giggle, before kissing him.

TBC


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the wonderful Alex <3 aka_demon72  
> Pairing: Belldom  
> Rating: NC 17  
> Warnings:hotness and kinkness

_Morgan’s POV_

“I received your message” Mr. Anderson simply states as sitting on the metallic chair of the café in front of me “And I was quite surprised: It’s been a long time since I last heard from you”

“Since I decided to work with Wolstenholme” I say with a smirk, which looks quite unpleasant on my usually peaceful and pretty face; this is why people never suspect of me: they only know that there’s something strange in me. And strange is not necessarily a synonym for bad.

Anderson orders a Margarita cocktail even if it’s quite early for alcohol: it’s only 3 p.m. and he starts to really work only after nightfall “The dear Christopher” A laugh escapes from his smiling lips “He’s doing good. I wouldn’t have bet a penny on him at the old times, but now he’s even a bigger and worse mobster than me” In his voice there’s a hint of regret: he was blind when the shiny career of that Wolstenholme guy was only at the beginning. He can’t stand that Morgan saw gold where there was none yet and now he’s one of the richest bastards in Teignmouth – and probably London, since every organization in that town has a connection with the big city.

I only nod and sip my iced green tea; it’s perfect to restore me after the awful flight to Cambridge. I don’t like Dom Anderson very much, even if we worked together for a considerable amount of time and made a fucking whole lot of money we never got along well. So I’m still unsure whether asking to him for help is the right thing to do or not “And how are you doing?”

“Not bad, my mates have just resolved a tricky situation” His Margarita is placed gracefully in front of him by an exceptionally good looking waitress; I bet Anderson is almost tempted to offer her a job in one of his night clubs – after all is always time for working – but then he forces himself to focus again his gaze on me: he knows that the only reason why I’m sitting with that grin on my face, surely is work “How can I help you, Morgie?” A frown breaks for a moment my poker face: I still don’t like being called that way.

“I’m looking for a killer to hire and he has to be the best. You’re the only one I know with such acquaintances”

“Are you looking for yourself or for the young Wolstenholme?” Anderson wants to know if he’s falling into a trap or trouble: he almost never plays the game without knowing the risks: It’s just the rule of “the survival of the fittest” and in order to be the fittest you have to know as much as possible on the enemies.

“That’s none of your business” I swallow the last drops of tea: the sweet taste of it lingers on my tongue like the smell of orange tree blossoms – simply disgusting “That’s not a friendly request, Anderson. It is a work offer and I’m going to pay you a lot” Money is always the key; I have been playing the game for a sufficient amount of time to know what usually keeps you safe and sound and what sends you to the sea bottom with a block of cement around your neck.

“What can I do with your dirty money if I’m dead?” He tries to fool me with his question.

“And what if you lose a chance of making money only telling me a name?” A huge grin shows my incredible cleverness which keeps me alive in this circus “Can you stand seeing someone else take your money only because you were too afraid of writing a phone number on this piece of paper?” I place a pencil and the already said piece of paper in his hands with an expression that must have been the same of the Snake offering to Eva the forbidden fruit of knowledge.

Anderson looks at me with wide eyes in his sharp face, I can almost see the memory of when I was much more younger and innocent crossing his mind “You’re a bloody motherfucker bastard”

“You always had a thing for effective speeches. This one really touched my heart” I grin and emphatically put an hand on my chest, where heart is supposed to be “Give me a name, a phone number, an address… even only the postal code is enough: you know I can find him without compromising you if it is that, which you fear”

“How much will you pay me?”

“Enough for giving you the chance to leave this country and begin again your life in a tropical paradise as a rich son of bitch” I never tear my gaze from the bluish eyes of my ex-boss. I’m quite disappointed: when did Anderson become such a scared worm?  
A vein pulses on my interlocutor forehead, tiny beads of sweat shine on the heated and slightly red skin; English people are really not used to those abnormally high temperatures, for us it’s too much. I know that Anderson is more than tempted, there’s nothing he desires more than to leave the business to someone else and go away; he desperately wants to live his elderly age in peace with his wife, tired of sitting the whole night on the couch and waiting for her husband to come back home safe.

He nervously licks his upper lip with the tip of his tongue; the salty taste of sweat mixes up with the bitter sweetness of alcohol: it’s the flavor of hope and fear, igniting the perspective of a new life far away from the muddy and foggy streets, stinking of death, horror, drugs and dirt “Have you got them with you?”

“Twenty thousand pounds, take it or leave it” I pat my hand on the pocket of my grey jacket, like the ones often wore by detectives in police departments. My smile is faded away, but I’m almost sure that Anderson is going to accept my offer: physical signs speak better than words; the tremble of his eyelids, the light brightening his eyes, the pulsing nerve on his cheek, the teeth biting his mouth.

I wait for an answer while the remaining ice cubes in my soda-like glass melts away and cold water pools on the table; while sunlight turns darker as the sun hides itself behind the trees; while younger and younger people came to the café for an ice-cream after compulsive shopping or a film seen into the nearby cinema.

Suddenly the man holds tighter the pencil in his sweaty fingers and scribbles down two names and a phone number on the piece of white paper “They always work in pair and it may be annoying sometimes, but I assure you they’re the best killers in whole England”  
I take the note as handing him a thick packet with the money in it, which Anderson grabs immediately “Have they ever worked for you?”

“They’re the ones who just solved my problem. I never had trouble with them: they do what they’re told to do without complaining. Of course, they’re not cheap”

“As I told you before, money is no object”

“You must be speaking for your boss or you’re a richer bastard than I thought” He smiles, feeling the comforting weight of money in his pocket. Now that he has taken his decision, following it is easy.

I stare at the nervous and scrambled handwriting of my ex-boss: it’s no longer the neat mirror of a mobster proud of himself, only the ghost of a frightened man in the pool of crocodiles “Don’t trouble yourself with these thoughts” I look at him “Go away from here: you need some rest” I stand up and, without giving him a second glance, go to the black limousine which has been waiting for me for almost two hours now. Luckily Christopher allowed me to take his private jet for this little joyful trip and so I don’t have to wait hours for a flight in an airport, among sweating and cursing common people.

“Morgie! Don’t call them now” Anderson shouts  
.  
“Why not?” A frown appears on my forehead.

“Because if I know them well – and, believe me, I do – they’re enjoying themselves after the work”

***  
_Matt’s POV_

The corpse is turning cold on the white floor of the septic room, the cherry-like red blood pool is thick and seems to be artificial, Rachmaninov is still softly playing, my lips are on Dominic’s neck “Speak French again”

“Find yourself a French boyfriend” He laughs, but his laughter fades in a deep moan as I sink my teeth in his tender and tanned flesh.

“Speak. French. Now”

“ _Je te veux en moi-même_ ” He sighs with pleasure, thrusting his wanting hands in my messy baby-like hair in order to make contact between my thin lips and his open mouth. His tongue swirls around mine while his hands move to the buttons of my white shirt.  
“ _Encore_ ” I whisper the only French word I know; I find French arousing, but I don’t understand a single word of it.

“I’m too distracted now” Dominic rips the shirt off my slender waist and bends down to bite one of my nipples, barely darker than the whiteness of my chest. He’s a filthy pervert: I know that feeling my heartbeat pulse under his lips makes him harder “On your knees. Now”

“Are you horny, sweetest?” I smile, but fall onto my knees as soon as the blonde’s order reaches my ears. I admire how the tight red trousers seem to be painted on his legs and crotch. I attempt to pull them down.

“Matthew, maybe you should undo the button and the zip” He taps on my head and shoots me a bright and excited smile. Dominic giggles as he sees the lost expression my face “Hurry up, love”

I blink three times before my synapses connect and send to my hands the right orders. As soon as the electric impulse arrives, my fingers – elegant and long, perfect for playing the piano – struggle to free my lover from the trousers which I pull down to his ankles.

With my tongue, I trace the line of his erection; only a thin layer of bluish satin doesn’t let the warmness of my mouth to encircle the hotness of that smooth and hard flesh. I suck him through the tissue and gloriously smile when the blonde shudders and his knees bend a little “Please, Matthew”

I adore listening to him begging for release as much as I find arousing French. I suck harder while I support him with my hands: before realising him, I want to hear him implore for some more time. With my sharp nails I scratch the soft skin behind his knees, little reddish and bloody lines cross his tanned skin and I bite the flesh in my mouth. I tear his boxers; the fact that Dominic doesn’t scold me for ripping to pieces his underwear is a clear sign of how much aroused is he.

I look in those green-greyish unfocused eyes and slowly put my fingers in my mouth in order to coat them with burning saliva, sucking vigorously as I see Dominic’s mouth tremble and that he’s parting open his legs with some difficulty: the trousers around his ankles keep him restrained. Smiling I brush my fingertips over his tight entrance. As I slip the finger inside him, I resume sucking his throbbing cock, feeling over the moon for making him a being of raw and pure emotions.

When he begins to bend down to meet the thrusts of my fingers, I know that he’s ready for a good after-job fuck.

“You can’t stop my voice and you don’t own my life, but: do what you want with my body, do what you want” Lady Gaga’s voice cover Rachmaninov amazing music.

“Is it your ringtone?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief “You’re such a whore”

Dominic doesn’t answer and pull my mouth again on his cock.

“Do what you want. Don’t stop this party”

“I can’t suck you off while she’s singing in my head” I retrieve the phone from the pocket of his trousers and hand it to him “Answer”

Dominic struggles to focus on the flashing number “It’s a fucking unknown number!” He complains before picking up the call “I hope it’s a matter of life or death. Otherwise, I’m going to kill you in the most horrible way!”

A calm male voice comes from the microphone “I suppose I’m talking with Dominic Howard”

“You did your homework, good boy! Now, what about telling me your bloody name?” He asks angrily: he hates to not finish things – especially if “things” means sex.

“Someone’s who’s going to hire and pay you and your partner as if you were made of pure gold. However, my name is Morgan Nicholls”  
“I never heard of you”

“I know. Well, if you’re up to know which my offer is call me back and we’ll arrange a meeting. The only thing I can say to solicit a positive answer is that money is no object” And the man ends the call.

“What the fuck?”

_Dom’s POV:_

“Did he hang up?” Matt asks me.

I’m still staring at my mobile phone, puzzled.

“Yeah, that son of a bitch hung up!” I reply.

“Good, so can I resume suck your dick good and proper?” my partner smirks in that oh so tempting way.  
As tempting as his words.  
But this time it won’t work. Looks like we’re back on business.

As a matter of fact I pull my trousers up, since my boxers by now are in shreds  
.  
“Didn’t you hear him? The point is that he’s a rich son of a bitch, with a job offer for us. Something big.”

“Well, just a few seconds ago. I was holding something big in my fucking mouth. Literally.” Matthew strikes back, getting closer to me in that predatory way that makes me dizzy.

And once again his mouth is back on my needing neck.

“Trust me, Matt, I hate that bloody pain in the ass as much as you do and now he’s on my black list for sure… “ I try to speak as he deepens the pressure of his teeth on my tender flesh. “But we have to call him back. I want that job.”

“And I want you. Right here, right now!” he growls, kissing me hungrily.

What was the motherfucker’s name? Something like Nicholas Morg… no, wait, it wasn’t it, but it was something like that…

Geez, I can’t concentrate with Matt’s tongue almost skimming my tonsils!

“Hold on, honey, I need a bit of concentration!” I protest, parting from him.

Morgan Nicholls. That’s the name.

“Okay, I recall the name. Now let’s go back home, let’s do some research and we won’t stop until we find him and set a bloody meeting!” I suggest.

“Relax, there’s not only job in life.” Matt whispers behind my back. “So what? Someone is looking for us with a job offer? He can bloody wait. I can’t.” he goes on, nibbling my lobe as I feel something cold and hard pressed against my cheek.

His gun. That’s unfair. He knows he’s one of my weakest points.

I moan like a horny whore, turning back to face him… only to find out that he’s gloriously naked.

That’s another of my weakest points.

“Now, be a good boy and no one will get hurt.” He summons me with husky voice, while he undresses me, his gun against my temple for the whole bloody time.

I know it’s loaded and this always turns me on like Hell.  
And the filthy, kinky bastard knows it.

“You like it, don’t you?” He whispers, kissing my neck, as his gun traces my spine, giving me such pleasant thrills. “Having my cold iron all around your perfect body, just before feeling my other, burning, throbbing iron deep inside you.” He chuckles, as I can feel the gun reaching my butt, while another kind of hardness is pressed against my back.  
I arch back and spread my legs, enjoying the moment.

Oh, I love my filthy, kinky bastard so much!

\----------------------------------------

\-----------------------

“Here we go!” I walk towards Matt, handing him a sheet of paper.  
He casts me an inquisitive look from our sofa.

“There are twenty bloody Morgan Nicholls around and I confined the research only in England. I bet my balls that the motherfucker is an Englishman in England!” I declare, making Matt chuckle.

“What a stake!” He smirks, licking his lips. “However, what am I supposed to do with this?” He asks me, waving the sheet of paper.

“It’s the list of all the Nicholls. Ten for you and ten for me.” I reply, showing him my sheet of paper.

Truth must be said: I’m a computer genius, almost a hacker-wannabe. It wasn’t easy to get such info, but I succeeded and I’m bloody proud of myself.  
About Matthew, well, he has got many talents, but technology is not one of them.  
Once he was able to make my computer go haywire, fucking the whole memory up, only pressing a single button. I’m still wondering what damn button it was; the point is that from then on Matt isn’t even allowed to get close to my laptop.

“So now draw out your mobile and let’s start some calls. We have to find our man!” I instruct him.

Snorting and cursing, he obeys and I go to another room to isolate and deal with my part of the list.

 

“Matt! Finally we’ve got him!” I exclaim, about fifty minutes later, running into him with the underlined name on my list.

“Great! I was sick of talking with bloody random people!” He shrugs, throwing his mobile on the corner of the sofa. “So, where does he live? London? I miss London so much!”

“Nope, my dear. Think much smaller than London.” I give him a hint.

“Liverpool? I like that town as well, there are some pubs there where I had the best riots of my life!” Matt makes another attempt, chuckling at the memory.  
I smile with him, only because I was there, too.

“Nope, hun. Okay, you’ll never guess. It’s Devon. A small town, called Teignmouth.”

“What?! I’m not going to leave my beloved Cambridge to move to a hole in the middle of fucking nowhere!” my mate grumbles.

So predictable.

“I know, Matteh, the town is scarily small, but the deal is extremely big. I have a positive feeling about it. C’mon, baby, let me try. Do it for me.” I plead with my eyes, pouting.

I know he can’t resist me whenever I do that. As a matter of fact, a minute later I’m already dialling the craved number.

“Hallo?” A voice, that voice, picks up the call at the fourth ring.

“Are you utterly alone now so we can talk, Mr. Nicholls?” I ask him.

He realizes everything.

“So you’ve found me. Well done. Just how?”

“Easy job. Of course, we hadn’t spent half of the day calling people at the phone and asking them ‘Hey, did you ask for two professional killers to hire?’” I joke and I hear him chuckling.

“By the way, just around Manchester there’s one of your namesakes who is a Drag Queen. Her stage name is Morganique Holls. You should go there and see her show, she sounds very nice!” Matt horns in and I glare at him.

A Drag Queen? He didn’t tell me about that.

“So, I suppose you’re Matt. I’ve been told you always work in pair. And… not only work.” Morgan asserts.

“Who the hell are you and how the bloody hell do you know so many stuff about us?” Matthew snaps, losing his already short patience.  
So typical of him.

“You always say the info, but never the source of them.” Morgan singsongs, with way too much self confidence.

“Sure. You find us, know a lot about us, and casually Anderson is nowhere to be found, out of the blue. Ain’t funny?” I state.

Silence from the other side.

“Good. You’re even smarter than I guessed.” Morgan chuckles, he seems truly amused. “As I’ve already told you, I have a job offer for you. Both of you. Very generous reward. Let’s meet for more details. What d’you say?”

Matt snatches the mobile from my hand.

“Just name the time and the place.” he spurs our interlocutor and once we set the meeting he hangs up.

There’s still a pending question.

“Matthew, what’s this story that you talked on the phone with a Drag Queen?”

*********************************** (In the meantime)

_Chris’s POV_

 

“Mr. Wolstenholme, you’ll surely recognize that …”

I surely recognize that you’re annoying the hell out of me.

I glance at my Rolex to state mentally that this guy has been talking to me for thirty three bloody minutes.  
And for what? He’s trying to convince me to finance the building of the umpteenth Kindergarten.

As if this sodding town needed another of those things.  
Some say that children are important, because children are the future.  
Craps! I don’t give a damn to the future, all I care about is the present.

While I nod for the fortieth time, with fake interest, the door opens and Morgan rushes in.

“Sorry, Chris, can we talk? It’s rather urgent.”  
Oh. Here comes the rescue.

“Sure, we can. After all, I’m done here.” I smile at him, gesturing to my unwanted guest to go away.

“But… we’re not done yet. There’s still so much that I have to explain to you.” The man babbles, sort of disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard enough to take my decision.” I strike back, walking him towards the door.

I may seem gentle, but I’m not. I just can’t wait to get rid of this unbearable person and of his sickening goodness.

“But…” he tries to protest again, as he crosses the threshold.

“Thank you for the visit!” I show him the most brilliant smile ever. “Bye!” I slam the door in his face and then I turn to Morgan. “You know, buddy, sometimes being a Major sucks!”

“Well, I’m sure that what I’m going to say will make a true smile return on your features.” He says with a smirk.

Oh, I know that look. It means good news. Very good news.

“Tell me everything!” I spur him, sitting on my desk.

“Let’s say that Cester’s day are numbered. I’ve found who is going to solve your problem.” He announces with a grin, but it can’t be as huge as mine.

I’ve never been happier to have Morgan in my team.

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> next part will come #soon


End file.
